Page 27 of Trapped with the Mountain Man

The next one lands on the opposite cheek with slightly more impact. It’s still only a swat – a quick, upward motion that tingles deliciously on my skin. I feel the way it makes my ass bounce under his stare and the way his fingertips curl into my skin as he enjoys the show.

Hunter gives me two more playful swats. On the last one, I can’t help but moan and press my hips forward to seek relief on his muscular thigh below me. Underneath my hipbone, his arousal grows. When I grind into him, Hunter’s hand moves between my thighs. Soft, slippery skin eagerly greets him there. He lets out a groan so deep and hungry that it’s barely audible. His other hand curls into my hair and his breath dances along the back of my neck and ear as he bends over to speak.

“You like it when I spank you.” It’s not a question. “You’re dripping wet.”

I nod, too breathless and needy to speak.

“Please,” I finally manage to whisper, pressing myself harder against his hand. “I need…”

“What do you need, sweetheart?”

My answer comes in the form of pressing even harder against his hand, which is still cupped between my legs but not inside me.

Apparently, this is the wrong answer.

Hunter withdraws his hand completely, leaving me a whimpering mess.

What starts as a gentle pet of my hair ends with his fingers tangled more roughly against my scalp. It’s just enough to draw my attention without actually causing any pain.

When he speaks again, his breath isn’t against my neck. He’s sitting up again, speaking louder. Knowing that I’ll have to speak louder when I beg him for more.

“Tell me what you need, Abby.” His voice is stripped of its playful mocking. It quivers ever so slightly, making me realize that he’s begging me every bit as much as he wants me to beg him.

“I need your fingers inside me,” I say through a shaky breath. “I need you to make me come.”

His fingers loosen in my hair, stroking the length down to my back again. My t-shirt is riding up around my stomach, but still just shy of exposing my scar. I know he’s seen it already, but I’m thankful for the little piece of fabric covering it from view now. I’m already so exposed to him; I couldn’t stand to think of him staring down at my scar right now, wondering what happened, instead of pouring all of his attention into my other parts lying exposed to him at the moment.

Hunter’s fingers rake up the back of my thigh and nestle between my legs again. I spread my thighs a little wider, letting my desperation win over my embarrassment. His fingers brush against me lightly at first. They move down to circle my clit and then slide back up to a place I’ve never been touched before. I freeze a little, but ultimately give in to the delicious torment. Hunter is taking his time, building and stretching my anticipation until my ache for him overwhelms me.

Only then do his fingers press inside my aching center. One slow, steady push that digs deep into me like no one has before. He holds them there, stretching and satiating me, before curling them expertly inside of me. It sends a gentle quake through my body and delivers a moan to my lips. I’m almost finished before he even begins.

But I want to hold onto this as long as I can. I claw my way back from the edge and hang onto the moment. I’m the string of a kite caught in a tree. I’m one little breeze away from being torn apart or carried away. The thread holding me there is less stable each second.

“Oh no you don’t,” Hunter whispers over my neck. He feels the slow, deliberate breaths heaving in my chest, the way I keep pulling myself back. “Don’t hold back from me. I want to see you wild and coming all over my fingers.”

As if his words aren’t enough to nearly unravel me, his fingers also withdraw and push back inside me with more force this time. He repeats this motion a few times, drawing gasps from me with each motion. Before he settles into a rhythm again, he finds a way to stretch one finger down and settle it over my clit while resting his thumb over my other entrance. He makes no attempt to push inside me there; it’s just a gentle pressure that tells me he wants to claim every last inch of me.

That he would absolutely devour and wreck me…if only there were time.

All of this is enough to sever the string holding me back and send me over the edge. Breathy pleas that even I can’t understand tumble past my throat as I tighten and contract around Hunter’s fingers.

“That’s my girl,” he coos again, keeping his rhythm until I’m done. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

And I do.

For longer than I ever have before.

When I’m finished, I’m a puddle in his lap. It takes every ounce of energy I have left to rearrange myself beside him in the bed.

“I’m sure going to miss you,” he says, pulling me into his arms.

It would be a shockingly emotional sentiment coming from him…if not for his tone. It’s a light-hearted quip, a comment about how fun it’s been to have someone around to have sex with, a reassurance that this will be over tomorrow.

It stings at the corners of my eyes and the edges of my heart. It’s not that I’m trying to make this whole ordeal into something it’s not, but it’s hard to deny the emotional intimacy I’ve felt with Hunter, especially when I’m still coming down from another intense encounter with him.

I chew at my cheek, unsure of what to say. If I say that I’ll miss him too, it will come out all wrong. I won’t be able to match his detached, casual tone.

A simple ‘yeah’ is all I can manage.

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